


Incinta

by kmo



Series: mio babbino caro [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fertility Issues, Unplanned Pregnancy, au of dolce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmo/pseuds/kmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bedelia doesn't know whether she's having a monster or a miracle or an abortion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incinta

**Author's Note:**

> For all the peeps who requested bedannibal murder baby fic, here you go. A (sort of) hastily written fic for you.

Bedelia stands beneath the glowing green cross of the  _farmacia_  and repeats the words over and over under her breath, double-checking the translation in her battered Italian-English phrasebook.

“Vorrei un test di gravidanza per favore,” she says to the pharmacist, nervousness making her pronunciation even more clunky than usual.

The young woman looks at her, cocks an eyebrow, and hands her a slim pink box. “Prego, signora.”

“Grazie.”

***

Bedelia’s eyes dart between the instructions and the dictionary.

A pink plus sign appears. Like a palimpsest. Like a delusion.

She’s finally lost her mind.

***

She returns to the corner  _farmacia_ and asks for another test.

Another bright pink cross.

Bedelia sees the carefully constructed chess game laid out before her, all the anticipated moves and counter-moves. She feels her brilliant strategy to place both Hannibal and the FBI in check crumble in her hands like week-old cake.

For the first time since she left Baltimore, she is terrified.

***

Bedelia returns to the  _farmacia_  a third time.

“Another test,  _signora_?” the pharmacist asks snidely. Something in her rude tone makes Bedelia thirst for her blood. She hopes it is an iron deficiency and not something more sinister.

“No. I need a doctor.  _Molto discreto_.”

***

“Lei è incinta, Signora Fell,” the doctor says in a kindly but patronizing tone. He pauses for a moment and punches at his smartphone. “Pregnant. You understand?”

“It’s not possible,” she says with emphasis. She struggles to make herself understood. “Mio medico…ha detto… _non possibile_.”

“È un miracolo,” the doctor pronounces, kissing her affectionately on both cheeks.

Bedelia doesn’t know whether she’s having a monster or a miracle or an abortion.

***

She returns to their flat to find Hannibal has made dinner. Ribbons of fresh linguine soaked in a pale pink vodka sauce, fresh crusty bread from the corner  _pasticceria_ , delicious bright green rocket and eggplant glistening with olive oil fill her plate. A rich chocolate and hazelnut torte rests on the sideboard for dessert. The table is overflowing with food and there is not a single dish of ominously ambiguous meat. Her oysters are conspicuously absent.

He knows, damn him, he knows.

“You shouldn’t be eating shellfish in your condition,” he says, filling her wine glass with Pellegrino instead of Prosecco. He’s so solicitous she thinks she might cry.

And then, awash in a cocktail of hormones and blind panic, she actually does, sobbing into her damask dinner napkin.

***

Dinner goes uneaten that evening, a first in the Lecter-Du Maurier household. Hannibal lights a fire in the grate and gathers her in his arms on the sofa, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her hair. Hannibal is naturally very affectionate, though she often doesn’t indulge him this way, tonight it is her and not him that hungers for touch. They watch the sun set over Florence, the sky streak from red to orange to purple behind their leaded glass windows. He chats about manuscripts at the museum, about the upcoming exhibition, about nothing at all until she is finally ready to speak.

“I hope you understand…I...I did not take precautions, because I believed I could not get pregnant,” she says, voice shaking.

“It’s unusual but not impossible for a woman of your age to have a child. And besides, half the responsibility for precautions was mine.” He shakes his head ruefully and laughs. “We are two very clever people, yet we did not anticipate this.”

“I tried several years ago to have a child, before I knew you. Two rounds of IVF.” Bedelia swallows back tears, tries not to think of her first husband, who left her for a fertile yoga instructor half his age. Of the reproving words of her mother, chastising her for waiting too long. “They failed.”

He caresses the fine bones of her left hand and she feels like antique porcelain about to break. “So you wish to become a mother then, Bedelia.”

“It was the dream of a different woman from a much less complicated life,” she says, forgetting for a moment that she is his psychiatrist and he is not hers.

“But you want this.”

It’s selfish of her. It’s insane. “Yes.”

“If this is what you want, why are you so afraid?”

“I could navigate my way out of this…but it was an exit strategy for one, not for two,” she tells him.

Hannibal grows silent, but does not disagree with her. He pulls her closer and places a warm hand on her abdomen as if wishing the six week old fetus to quicken beneath his touch.

***

When Bedelia returns from the shops the following afternoon, she finds Hannibal. Her dark black suitcase and large leather satchel are packed, waiting, expectant.

“I hope you forgive me, but I’m afraid you will have to leave some of your wardrobe behind.” His eyes flick over her belly. “Though you will soon be needing a new one anyway.”

“Hannibal, what is this?”

He steps closer to her and presses a navy blue UK passport into her hands. “An exit strategy.”

“For two, but not for three,” she observes.

Hannibal’s dark expressive eyes aching with unspoken sadness tell her all she needs to know.

“We did not discuss this,” she says, her voice sharp and brittle. “You made this decision without me.”

“We both know you would have come around to it eventually. I am merely hastening the inevitable.” He smiles back at her, heartbroken and amused. “I do so adore your sense of self-preservation, Bedelia.”

He’s right, but his words bruise her all the same. “You asked me if I wanted to be a mother. I never asked if you wanted to be a father. Do you?”

“As you told me not very long ago, the plans for my capture have already been set into motion.” His eyes turn away from her, to the view of Florence in all of its Renaissance splendor. “I gambled away my chance at fatherhood before I ever knew I had one. It doesn’t have to be the same for you.”

“It’s not like you to be so…unselfish.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“And if I decide we can’t leave without you?”

His expression nearly turns into a snarl and she knows the biting irony of her words is not lost on him. “You know how rare my mercy is. Take it, Bedelia, before I change my mind.”

Bedelia wraps her arms around him. His firm hands grasp her waist. They hold each other like they are the last woman and man on earth. And for a brief moment it feels like they are. She lets herself cry…one, two, three tears…before breaking away.

“A taxi is downstairs to take you to the station. It would be rude to keep the driver waiting.”

Bedelia nods. “Goodbye, Hannibal.” She gathers her bags and swans out the door, unsure if she wants their farewell to be  _au revoir_  or  _adieu._

**Author's Note:**

> My Italian is limited to ordering food at restaurants, books at the archive, and asking for directions to the emergency room, so please feel free to correct me. (Also feel free to ask me about my adventures in an Italian emergency room last summer)


End file.
